


Possessive

by Strawberry_Sweetheart



Series: Harringrove College Au [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angel Steve, Demon billy, Devil billy, Halloween Prompts, Happy Slutty Halloween, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, normalize boys wearing makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 02:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20667635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Sweetheart/pseuds/Strawberry_Sweetheart
Summary: Billy doesn’t like it when people hit on his boyfriend when he’s clearly in the room. Steve knows exactly what he’s doing.





	Possessive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonlightx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlightx/gifts).

> Requested by moonlightx: here’s a sequel to my previous work Couples Costume. Sorry this is a bit late <3. 
> 
> Tumblr: billy-baby

The party was what you’d expect. College kids, loud music, and red plastic cups filled with a mystery mixed concoction. It was crowded, almost overly so, and the air was damp and hot from everyone’s body heat, even if outside the October temperature was cold and getting colder. There were cheap decorations throughout the house: glow in the dark spider webs were hung from picture frames and the staircase railing, bat cutouts taped to the wall, and a lone plastic skeleton propped up in the corner tangled in glowing orange festive lights.

Billy sipped his beer slowly, enjoying it’s malty texture against his tongue before swallowing and scanned the room with his eyes. Billy and Steve weren’t conjoined at the hip, no matter what Tommy says. They were similar and different all at the same time. Similar were it counted, similar to the core, but with different enough tastes that they had their separate friend groups. 

Billy hung around frat boys like Tommy, who was talking his ear off about something he had long tuned out, people who were loud and knew how to drink their weight. Steve hung out with the up tight nerds. People like Nancy Wheeler who held an aura of righteousness and moral superiority, people like Jonathan Byers who’s “eccentric” behavior was forgiven and veiled under an artsy hipster personality. 

Billy’s eyes locked into Steve’s form from across the room. 

People like the guy Steve was currently talking to, obviously from Byers type of crowd if his obscure costume was anything to go by. He had a costume that Billy just _knew_ was a reference or character from some Indie hipster movie no one’s ever heard about, was probably talking to Steve about it right now with all the arrogance of a film major who believed their tastes were superior just because they watched films from unknown directors and producers. Billy knows the type. 

“So,” Tommy’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “what are you even supposed to be.” Tommy gestures to Billy’s shirtless torso and leather pants with his hand that was duck taped to a bottle of beer because of course it was.

“I’m a devil,” he pointed to the horns that rested on his head, “duh.” 

He left with the excuse of finding something else to drink, eyes locked on the talking pair across the room. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Steve, because he did. And it wasn’t that he was the jealous type either, because he wasn’t. They were both comfortable enough in their relationship, both so utterly in love and trusting of one another — They really were. So, usually, when he sees some rando flirting with Steve, he finds it amusing. Likes to watch people trip over their feet to get his number, to get a taste. Likes knowing that they never will. They can look and only ever look. But never touch. Because Steve’s _his_ and no one else’s.

But this isn’t some rando at a coffee shop. This is some guy at a college frat party hitting on what’s his. And everyone knows who Billy is, he makes it his job that they do, so by extension everyone knows who Steve is — that he’s _Billy’s_, completely and definitely. And the guy is leaning closer now, with a crooked grin and an unearned confidence. A blatant disrespect for their relationship that makes him burn inside, ignoring the lipstick mark Billy left on Steve for this exact reason.

So no he’s not jealous.

He’s possessive.

He takes a swig from his drink and dumps his cup inside a potted plant as he makes his way over to the pair, passed the ping-pong table and the couples hitting a bong on the couch. 

“So what’s your major?” He hears him say as he draws near and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

People have noticed now— because they always notice him — and they part like the Red Sea. Film hipster is leaning his shoulder against the wall, using the excuse of drunken clumsiness to stumble further into Steve’s space. And Billy can’t blame the guy. He gets it. Steve is a vision in heels, hard to miss as he towers over most of the crowd, glowing as glitter reflects the lights over head, and the guy stares up at Steve like he’s ready to worship at his feet. Yeah, Billy gets it. 

“Harrington,” he purrs into Steve’s ear as he wraps an arm around his waist from behind him, pulling him slack against his chest, feeling angel feathers tickle the skin there. He locks his eyes onto the guy who looks pissed as hell at Billy’s arrival, chin up in a holier-than-thou manner, it grates on his nerves that this guy— this nobody — isn’t backing down like most would. Like he has a right to be pissed. Like Steve and Billy _aren’t_ in a relationship and he _wasn’t_ trying to desecrate it. 

He lets his hand travel from Steve’s side down to the navel, skimming the happy trail there and cupping him through his shorts, because Billy is gross and Steve _likes_ it; Steve presses his hips forwards against his hand and hums contently with a dopey lopsided smile. 

“This is Charles, babe. He’s a film major, said he wants me to play a part in one of his little projects.” Steve’s ditzy smile turns sharp and predatory and playful and everything Billy loves. A cat enjoying battering around its prey before sinking teeth in his meal. 

Billy can be an asshole, but so can Steve.

Different… but similar to core.

_Charles_ moves his eyes from where Billy has placed his hand, back up to meet steel blue eyes locked into his. He watched the film geek swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing as he takes in Billy’s bare form slung over Steve’s. Pride wells up in his chest. He guesses they do make quite the pretty picture. 

“You think he’d be willing to film something for us, pretty boy? Our own little personal project?” He licks a wet stripe up the pillar of his neck, enjoys the way Steve hums in reply and tilts his head to the side to give him more access. He feels his angel grow hard against his hand. His other hand comes up to lay flat over Steve’s chest, index finger tapping over the red lipstick mark on his collarbone, eyes never leaving the shorter man in front of them. He watches his eyes shift to the side for a moment, squirming under his gaze, defeated. 

_Message received,_ he thinks, pleased as pie. 

Without another word, he guides Steve back through the crowd with an arm around his waist, leaving Charlie — or was it Charles — behind alone and lost.

“You got the whole world fooled, don’t you,” he whispers into Steve’s ear feeling him shiver at his side. “Got the whole world thinking you’re an absolute peach when really,” he grips the soft flesh of his ass in a firm promise of of tonight, “you’re just as rotten inside as the rest of us. And I’m gonna wreck you.” 

The air outside is biting cold against their heated skin. Steve’s cheeks are flushed from more than just the blush he applied. “Promises, promises,” he says cheekily and they make their way back to their dorms.


End file.
